Empathy
by The Zazu
Summary: Her hand pressed against his for a brief moment.  And as soon as it was there, it was gone. George Weasley finally meets someone like himself in the corridors of St. Mungo's. [postDH]


**Empathy**

They would always meet in those sterile halls. He, there for his required counseling, and she—well, she never really never did say. He never pressed, though. Everyone had their own business to take care of in the hospital, and most likely, it was personal. Admittedly, he was curious the first few days he attended counseling, watching the pretty dark-haired girl sitting a few seats away. Every few days he watched her come, Tuesdays and Thursdays mostly, and wait patiently for what was, to him, unknown. The curiosity was first real emotion he felt in months, he later noticed. It broke through the pain of loss, the pain of losing a part of him. But he did not know her well enough to start conversation, although she had been in his House, and only two years below him. There was a time where he would have eagerly taken the opportunity to talk to such a good-looking girl, but those times were long gone. The War had made everyone grow up a little too fast.

The Healer always called him first, and by the time he returned, she was always gone. Talking to the Healer about his experience hurt every visit and subsequently crushed the vague sense of disappointment he felt when he didn't see her. She became his visual anchor, the somewhat familiar presence that made the vastness of the hospital a little less intimidating and cold. Yet, he still did not talk to her.

Every once in a while, they would trade polite smiles. She would quickly turn to the magazine in her hand, seemingly absorbed in the material. He, not being much of a reader, noticed the way her eyebrows furrowed in concentration, and a rare look of grief that appeared on her face when she forgot he was still sitting there. 'Something had happened to her,' he always mused. But that was no surprise. Every witch and wizard had "something happen" to them in those last few years. What mattered, really, was what it was, exactly. He had caught her a few times looking at him with a strange look in her eyes – Pity? Compassion? – before burying her face into the rather girly magazine once more. Yet, he still made no motion to ask. 'It would be rude,' he told himself, 'and she probably doesn't want me nosing in, anyway.'

So, it was after one session with his Healer, that he was shocked to see her standing a few feet in front of the doorway, almost expectantly. He closed the office door behind him, nodding half-heartedly in acknowledgment. Honestly, he felt rather drained and the thought of his bed sounded very pleasant. As he started to move away, he did not expect her to suddenly press her hand gently against his. It was warm and dry like comfort. And as soon as it was there, it was gone.

He stopped mid-step and turned. Before he could speak, she did. The young woman looked at George Weasley and said quietly, yet earnestly, "We're here for the same reason. I _know_ how terrible it is." Her voice was emphatic and sought the redheaded man to understand. "My sister…" she trailed off.

"…your twin," he said slowly, the wheels in his head finally clicking. "It feels like someone tore off my wand arm," George commented lamely. "Everyone says these kinds of things dull with time… but I don't think they've ever—ever…" He searched for the right words.

"They have never lost a part of themselves," she finished sadly. A myriad of emotions flitted over her delicate features, before finally settling on an expression of hope. "But we have to try, right? Maybe we could… help each other out?"

George gave a half-smile. "Yeah. We aren't Gryffindors for nothing, so let's show them what we've got! And hey, the Healer says I should talk to someone, anyway. Didn't think I was ready, but maybe I am. Coffee?"

"Of course!"

He gallantly offered the young woman his arm. 'A bit like the old days,' he mused as she accepted his gallantry readily with an amused laugh. George already felt relieved at the thought of getting his grief off his chest, not to mention the idea of rekindling his diminished social life in the same stroke!

After all, if there was anyone in the world who would understand, it would be Parvati Patil.

-

_Author's Note_: Just a quick something I wrote, just to get back into the feel of writing fanfiction. I definitely liked certain parts of the piece and would love constructive criticism and other reviews to help me improve:)


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